


A Reason

by mystiri1



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, Illnesses, Loyalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-04
Updated: 2010-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-12 10:02:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystiri1/pseuds/mystiri1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suffering from Geostigma, Rufus wonders why he's still fighting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Reason

Another day. Another examination. Another hour of listening to doctors who had no fucking clue debate which treatment should be tried next, and if the way in which his condition was progressing was significant.

It felt pretty bloody significant to Rufus.

Finally, the flock of so-called medical experts – the fact that he was paying them highly for their expertise and discretion in no way lessened their resemblance to a flock of geese, all of them noisy, self-important and irritating – was ushered from the room by a frowning Tseng. Rufus looked around the bare space of his room and tried to grasp at some semblance of his normal composure.

He hated examinations. Part of it was surely that the way the doctors poked and prodded and mused thoughtfully was just a little too reminiscent of ShinRa’s notorious laboratories. Rufus had never been one of the unfortunate lab rats, but he had been present during a few experiments. It had convinced him that more than a few of his father’s employees were crazy, and that science was something better read about in reports than experienced firsthand.

But mostly, it was the lack of control. Sure, Rufus was the man with the money, and therefore, he was nominally in control of all those doctors. But he was also the one in need of a cure. And without personally acquiring the same education and experience as each of his medical experts, he had to trust that they were trying their best to cure him, and not simply getting what money they could out of a lost cause. Or using him as a lab rat to try out their odder theories about Geostigma.

Being the man with the money was less reassuring than being the man with the Turks. What Rufus did trust was that if Tseng caught the slightest hint that any of them was screwing him over, they would be dead, or fervently wishing for it.

Thoughts of what terrible acts of violence could befall his doctors did little to make up for the indignity of having been stripped nearly naked in front of multiple near-strangers so they could see the hideous mess that black rot was slowly making of his body. The dressings were all securely fastened back in place now, and he was clothed once again. The constraints of both his condition and the heat meant he was wearing less than he would usually, and he smoothed a hand over the lapel of his suit jacket. Even though the richness of the fabric was evident, he still missed the feel of multiple layers of silk under his hands, the sense of assurance that came from being dressed as befit his status.

It had been over a year now since the black marks first started to appear on his body, and the longer it went on, the harder it was to recall how it felt to be that confident and in control. To know that he was Rufus ShinRa, and that the rest of the world watched him in fear and awe. A few words from him could be the difference between a family living in relative comfort, with a regular income and a steady supply of electricity, and their utter destruction. Being a ShinRa wasn’t just about money, it was about power, and keeping the streets lit at night was the least of it.

Tseng entered the room again. He didn’t approach, seeming to understand that Rufus needed all the space he could get right now. “The doctors have left, sir.”

It was another sign of how well Tseng knew him. The Turk had known him since he was a child, and was allowed the informality of his first name, in private, at least. But for the moment, that calm expression and that little bit of distance were soothing to the blond’s ruffled nerves.

“Good. I -” The attack surprised him, cutting off the rest of what he was about to say, as pain shot through his body, radiating from one of the black patches – this time, high on his shoulder. His muscles tensed, and breath hissed through clenched teeth. Even before the attack was over, he was speaking once again. He wouldn’t let some stinking disease beat him. “- am going out for some fresh air.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rufus stood, and it was an effort for shaking legs not to give way beneath him. Every second or third step, little twinges of pain reminded him exactly where else the black rot had spread, as if it was somehow seeking to draw him a map of its progress. One of the doctors had oh-so-helpfully supplied him with a wheelchair, so that he ‘didn’t have to strain himself getting around.’ Rufus refused to give in and sit meekly in a chair while the rest of the world continued on without him. He was not dead yet.

He headed for the other door, one that lead onto a small balcony overlooking the tangled wilderness surrounding Healin Lodge. He stood at the rail for a full minute, before turning and taking the few steps to the chair that sat in one corner.

As he sank down, feeling the blessed relief of taking the weight of his aching legs, he wondered just what he was trying so hard for. Nobody had found a cure for Geostigma yet. Nobody was quite sure what caused it. Rufus thought it would be a bitter irony indeed if it was yet another mad experiment that had escaped ShinRa’s many labs. ShinRa Electrical Power Company was in ruins, its headquarters destroyed, its reactors no longer in operation following the massive redirection of the Lifestream. Reeve and his WRO had commandeered many remaining ShinRa resources, and almost everybody believed he was dead.

Rufus had spent his whole life fighting. The company he was being raised to inherit was a nest of vipers, all of whom were constantly engaged in potentially lethal power struggles. Even while he was being groomed as an heir, on another level, his own father regarded him as a threat and potential rival.

Back then he’d felt something. An odd mixture of rage, and a drive to succeed, to show his father, with all his mad ideas and vices and paranoia, that he was right, Rufus was a threat. That Rufus was more than that pathetic old man could ever be. Now, he just felt... tired.

The door to the balcony flew open, banging against the wall with a loud thud.

“Man, it is so damned hot here!” Reno exclaimed as he came swaggering out, as if the crashing of the door hadn’t been enough to announce who was coming.

Rufus watched as the redhead crossed over to the rail, deliberately not looking in his direction. The Turk shrugged out of a wrinkled suit jacket, and hung it over the railing, where for a moment it looked in danger of sliding right off to the jungle floor below. He stretched, an action that made the lean body look even skinnier than it was, then turned with an extravagant sigh and leaned against the barrier, the EMR rod hooked to his belt knocking on the wood. “Y’know, if Tseng wasn’t such a damned stickler for the whole uniform thing, I’d take my shirt off, too. Well, and if I wasn’t afraid the bugs here’d eat me alive.”

He gave Rufus one of his trademark cocky grins and patted at his chest in a familiar gesture, before remembering he’d just ditched his jacket. He scooped it back up to fish around in the pockets for cigarettes and a lighter, before draping it carelessly back over the rail. This time, it slid down to hit the floor of the balcony. Reno looked at it, and shrugged, choosing to light up before retrieving it.

Rufus supposed he was lucky to have managed even that much time to himself. Tseng was very protective at the moment, as there were doubtless any number of people out there happy to kill any ShinRa they could find after everything that had happened.

Watching the redhead exhale with a satisfied sound, Rufus gave in to impulse.

“Give me one of those.”

“What?” Reno looked startled.

“A cigarette,” Rufus enunciated clearly.

The Turk cocked an eyebrow at him. “Those things’ll kill you.”

Rufus sneered back. “I doubt I have to worry about one cigarette killing me.”

Reno shrugged. “You gotta point.” He handed Rufus a cigarette, and leaned close for a moment to light it. Rufus watched him thoughtfully while he did so.

It was the first time anyone had so much as hinted that yes, the Geostigma might just end up killing him. But then, this was Reno, who was known for charging in where angels feared to tread, either verbally, or with his EMR swinging.

Reno was just as likely to call him Rufus as address him by his proper title, and he’d sure as hell never granted the Turk permission for that. It was just how Reno was. He’d frequently listened to Tseng relate the latest of the Turk’s antics in long-suffering tones or with barely-veiled amusement, and even, once or twice, genuine anger. He’d asked why he didn’t simply fire the troublemaker, but after a while, he knew why. Reno was good at his job. He was good at causing trouble. He was even good at getting out of it again afterwards, and seemed to make few genuine enemies. More, Rufus came to enjoy hearing about Reno’s latest antics just as much as he was sure Tseng did.

Rufus took a drag, and coughed, feeling the twinges as various parts of his body reported its unhappiness with that. “Been awhile,” he commented, and took another, slower inhalation. This one he let out with an easy sigh. He’d never been more than a casual smoker, and it hadn’t been a big deal to give it up at the doctors’ suggestion when he became ill. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Reno returned promptly.

“These things will kill you.”

“So will a whole lotta other things. Never stopped me yet.”

“Hmm.”

He was a bit surprised at the silence that fell then, as they simply enjoyed their cigarettes. Reno wasn’t known for being quiet.

He watched the other man out of the corner of his eye, pretending instead that he was contemplating the scenery. In the end, his curiosity got the better of him.

“Why are you here?”

“Tseng’s orders.”

“No. I mean, why are you here?” Rufus waved a hand at the surrounding area. “You can’t tell me you can’t find yourself more interesting employment than this.”

Reno looked at him in surprise. “’Cos I’m a Turk.” When Rufus continued to watch him, he added, “It’s not a job you walk away from.”

There were more than a few jobs at ShinRa you couldn’t walk away from. “I doubt you have to worry about being hunted down for daring to seek out new job opportunities,” Rufus pointed out. “Things aren’t quite what they were.”

“No.” Reno frowned. “That’s not what I meant. I’m a Turk.” This time the emphasis was different. “That’s what I am. Turks stick together.”

So he was here because Tseng was? “It’s true you’re still being paid, but there’s not much to spend it on out here. I’m aware that you’re used to considerably more excitement than this.”

Reno snorted. “You’re a ShinRa, Rufus. You’re not as nutso as your old man, or some of the people who worked for him, but things around you are bound to get interesting sooner or later. ShinRa are never boring. As I see it, this is just a temporary lull.” He grinned. “I’m takin’ the chance to get all relaxed and in touch with nature. You know, beat the shit out of any bug or beast that comes near me.”

“I don’t think that’s what most people mean by in touch with nature.”

“Makes me feel good, so who cares?” Reno shrugged. “Anyway, it’s not about the job. It’s about being a Turk.” He sucked hard on his cigarette for a moment. “I grew up in the slums. Been on my own plenty. But Turks look after their own. That’s worth putting up with the occasionally boring job, or Tseng’s lectures.” Apparently uncomfortable with the admission, he shrugged again and grinned. “That and the chance to fly ShinRa helicopters.”

“I’ve seen you fly, Reno. That should be enough excitement for anyone.” The dry remark covered the fact that he was still thinking – about the other things Reno had said. _Turks look after their own._

Tseng had said something similar to him, once. _“You have to look after your own in this world, because nobody else will.”_ At the time, Rufus had misunderstood. He’d thought Tseng meant looking out for yourself – certainly a practice anyone connected with ShinRa was more than familiar with. But now...

Tseng had always looked out for him. Oh, there were times when he knew full well the Wutaian had more than one agenda, but that was fine with Rufus. Tseng was the person who had taught him how to successfully play two sides at once, after all. He knew there were times Tseng had not entirely agreed with him, but on another level, he’d always trusted the older man not to do anything that would harm him. His plans, maybe, but not Rufus himself.

Strange that it should only just occur to him how deep that trust went. But trust was not something he was used to acknowledging at all. In the shark-infested waters that had been ShinRa Electrical Power Company, trusting anybody was asking to get killed – at best.

“There is nothing wrong with my flying,” Reno was saying, sounding more offended than the grin still hovering about his lips suggested. “Some of my passengers just lack the proper appreciation for the degree of skill it takes to pull off those kinds of moves.”

“Yes, well -” Rufus let out an involuntary gasp, body curling forward in pain. He could feel a whimper clawing its way up his throat and he clenched his teeth, refusing to let it out. He would not let this damned disease reduce him to that; he still had too much pride left. Feeling the pain ebb, he straightened back up, meeting Reno’s gaze head-on with an expression that refused to give away just how much he still hurt.

To his surprise, the redhead had started towards him, a flicker of something – concern? For him? – in his eyes. But he stopped, his shoulders relaxing as Rufus continued speaking.

“I don’t believe that going to and from a business meeting requires flying as though under heavy fire from anti-air defenses.” The words were still a little breathless, but neither of them acknowledged it.

Reno just leaned back against the rail, cocking his head with an irreverent smirk. “You never know when you’re gonna come under attack from anti-air defenses. Better safe than sorry.”

“And the fact that certain of your passengers have been known to require medication afterwards?”

“Weak constitutions.” Reno snorted.

“Hmm.” Rufus let the conversation between them lapse, thinking over what he’d seen and heard. Turks looked after each other – an extension, he supposed, of Tseng’s philosophy. The Wutaian was their leader, so that made sense. Certainly it was a reason for them to have stuck around. Yet the redhead had looked worried – for him. That was not just because Tseng chose to stay. He wasn’t a Turk, but maybe some of that loyalty was extended to Rufus, as well?

It made him feel... almost uncomfortable. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with that kind of loyalty; one that was based not on money or power or fear, but something more intangible. The only thing he was sure of was that he didn’t want to lose it.

 _“You have to look after your own in this world, because nobody else will.”_

It was true that a lot of ShinRa assets were either destroyed, or commandeered by the WRO, but one of the first things Rufus had done on his father’s death was start moving things. There were too many factions within ShinRa that he hadn’t trusted, and he’d needed to ensure he had an untouchable financial base to combat any internal problems. So he had plenty of money, if not all of it.

Reeve Tuesti was heading the WRO. He certainly didn’t know the worst of Rufus’ transgressions – few did – and the time Rufus had spent in Junon, away from most of the company politics, meant that he might be able to get some of those assets back, because Reeve didn’t really know him.

Most of the infrastructure was intact, but power generation was unreliable with the reactors offline. Rufus knew that research had been done into alternate methods of generation. ShinRa usually bought any such research, along with the scientists responsible. If he could generate a reliable supply of power, without using Mako, then ShinRa would be on the road to recovery . . .

He smiled. Yes, Meteor had been terrible. And it was true he’d probably never rule the world, now. He didn’t think he wanted to. It wouldn’t have been much of a challenge, anyway, had everything gone without a hitch, as ShinRa had controlled so much of it already. Rebuilding ShinRa from the ground up, though – that was a challenge. Especially as many people were inclined to blame ShinRa for everything that had gone wrong.

If he played it right, he could associate most of that with his father’s presidency, and he would become the person who fixed it all.

Reno took one last drag on his cigarette, and tossed the butt over the edge of the balcony.

“We are surrounded by trees, Reno. Wood is flammable.”

“Hmm?” The redhead leaned over the rail, looking down as if to search for where his discarded cigarette had landed. “You think I’ll get lucky and start a forest fire?”

Yes, a challenge worthy of him. And there would be much to do to get it started.

After all, he wouldn’t want his Turks to get bored.

 

 


End file.
